Savannah and James. Drabble.

James was grateful for the invitation, as he didn't have much of a home at the moment. His landlady had been less than impressed to discover that he had swathed the walls of his bedroom with blackboard paint, he had insisted that it could come off, and they had learned together that it could not, in fact, come off. And then she brought up a load of cardboard boxes and told him that he had a week to pack up all his weird future gizmos and get out of her building.

After pausing for an hour to reflect on this, James had begun to put books in a box. Books, heavy things. Far too cumbersome. Back home, he could carry thousands of books with him without breaking a sweat but now barely twenty fit into a single fucking cardboard box and they weren't all the same size and how could he jam the last one in when they're all so anomalous?

He realized that he was effectively homeless at the same time as he threw a paperback novel across the room in frustration. Then he burst into bitter tears and collected the book, whispering apologies.

He had somehow torn a page out of it. A page out of a lended book. Savannah had written on the page, a silly little doodle of Mrs. Vimes being heavily pregnant. (He had to admit that it was far more fun to write in old fashioned books than it was to highlight words in the books that he knew.)

Savannah had written her phone number and address in the cover of the book.

"Hello," He said.

"Hello," she answered. "Who's this?"

"James, from the café."

"Oh right! I lent you like half my Discworld novels. How are you, man?" (Bordering on twenty-five, she still acted like everyone she met was her best friend at some sort of frat party. She was also exceedingly dramatic and had a way of making plain things like loaves of bread hilarious.)

"I, um. Tore a page out of one."

There was a pause. An extremely long pause. "James," she said at last, "Your life may depend on how you answer the next question."

James relaxed.

"Which. Book. Was it."

"The Fifth Elephant."

"Son of a whore, I will murder you when I get back," she said pleasantly. "How bad is it? Will scotch tape do? Also, why did you tear a page out? I realize that those books get intense, but seriously now."

"Tape'll be fine, I think. And... I got thrown out of my apartment."

Savannah paused again before whistling. "I didn't know you had it in you, Jamie. Where are you staying now?"

"Well, in the apartment. I have until the end of the week."

"You have anything in mind?"

"Not... especially, no. Do you know someone?" He asked hopefully. Savannah seemed to know everyone.

"Yes, me. I bought a new place and there are three frickin' bedrooms in it. There's- Oh, shit, gotta run. Like, now. Sorry. Call you back."

--

I should not write things at two in the morning.